


voices

by whitebox_yellowbox



Category: Marvel (Comics)
Genre: Bisexual Peter Parker, Drunken Flirting, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Minor Original Character(s), Pansexual Wade Wilson, Rimming, Telepathy, Wade Wilson Needs A Hug, humor?, is this fic funny?, mentions of minions and also voring. I am sorry, you be the judge - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-03
Updated: 2019-03-04
Packaged: 2019-10-21 09:19:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17640041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whitebox_yellowbox/pseuds/whitebox_yellowbox
Summary: Wade and Peter are friends--just friends--but when a run-in with an unfamiliar villain gives Peter an unexpected ability, things might get a little complicated.AKA rip in pieces Wade Wilson





	1. Chapter 1

Peter’s head is pounding. He shoves the palms of his heads into his eye sockets, trying and failing to relieve the agonizing throbbing in his skull. He looks over to Wade, who seems to be experiencing the same kind of pain as Peter. Peter feels tears pricking at the corners of his eyes and his head feels like it’s going to implode any second. He collapses on the ground, curling in on himself, willing for a quick death.

This was not how his day was supposed to go.

 

* * *

 

“So what should we do tonight?” Peter is crouching next to Wade, and Wade is swinging his legs off the edge of the roof and drawing a picture of Spider-Man beating up bad guys with a couple of broken crayons. The night air is brisk, but Peter revels in the feel of it through his suit.

Wade doesn’t look up, but simply mumbles, “You know what I wanna do, baby boy.”

“What’s that? Get food?” Peter rolls his eyes at Wade, but the gesture is lost due to the fact that he’s currently wearing his mask. The amount of times a night Wade stalls their patrols to get a taco or a hotdog is actually ridiculous.

“No, not that. Well, it’s actually more _who_ I wanna do.” There’s a teasing lilt in his voice and Peter groans exasperatedly. Wade chuckles, a deep kind of rumble that Peter somehow can feel in his own chest. Not a day goes by that Wade doesn’t hit on Peter, and not a day goes by that Peter doesn’t complain about it. On some level, Peter almost enjoys the flirting—or at least, he wants to enjoy it— because it’s quite rare for someone to openly hit on him. On the other hand, however, it’s almost unsettling. Being an introvert and also someone who spends almost every night getting dressed up in spandex to fight crime often does not allow for much in the way of dating. Peter is quite unexperienced in this field. Wade, clearly, is not. Peter isn’t sure if Wade really is the dating type, based on the way he speaks about men and women he’s attracted to as if they are objects (with the exception of Peter, whom Wade praises as if he is some kind of deity). Peter’s discomfort also stems from his uncertainty about Wade’s sincerity in such comments. He doesn’t doubt that Wade finds his butt appealing, or “bangin’” as he refers to it, but past that, Peter is in the dark.

Some small part of him hopes Wade has feelings for him, but Peter tends to ignore that part.

“I lied, Webs,” Wade continues after his laughter dies down, “I do wanna get food. There’s a really good Mexican place a few blocks from here. Very cheap, very disreputable. My kind of establishment.”

Peter takes him up on it, and Wade was right—the place _is_ really good. And very disreputable. When Wade takes out cash to pay for the food, the owner waves his hand dismissively and says it’s on the house because of the “job” Wade did for him. Peter shoots a skeptical look at Wade and Wade just responds with a thumbs up. Peter ignores his moral indignation at the method of payment for these tacos in favor of obeying the grumble in his stomach.

After they eat, Peter swings himself and Wade up to the roof of a nearby building, trying his best not to hyper-fixate on Wade’s large arms wrapping around his own comparably narrow shoulders. Wade’s chatting about some movie he saw recently, and Peter is nodding politely but hardly paying attention. He’s noticing the silence of the city, and trying to decide if the eerie feeling he has deserves investigation or not.

“So the message of the movie is that anyone can wear the mask, anyone! Anyone can be—”

What anyone can be is cut short by the sound of pained yelling coming from somewhere in the city below them. Peter immediately jumps to action, diving off the building to swing towards the source of the noise.

“Hey!” He can hear Wade yelling indignantly after him, but Peter ignores it, picking up speed. If Wade really wants to follow Peter, he can take the fire escape.

As Peter approaches where the noise came from, his spider senses go haywire. They’re telling him to get away from there as fast as he can, but he ignores it. He drops to the street, and looks around for something, anything that seems out of place or odd.

 _Duck!_ Peter does as his instincts say as a ball of white hot energy whizzes by his head. He whirls around to see where it came from. A mysterious cloaked figure is standing at the ready 20 feet away, shrouded in darkness.

“This is a very classic villainous look, but I don’t want to assume that you’re a bad guy. Who are you?” Peter squints, trying to get a better look at the person when another blast is fired his way. He rolls out of the way, webs to a streetlight, and launches himself toward the figure. “Not much of a talker, then.”

More energy is shot his way and he has to contort his body to ensure that he isn’t struck by one of them. He moves in again, and kicks out at the cloaked person, only to have his foot grabbed out of the air. Peter is thrown to the ground, a knee pressing down on his spine, effectively pinning his chest and face to the asphalt of the street. He feels heat behind his head, and his spider-senses are screaming at him to _get away._ Peter tries to actually listen this time, attempting to wriggle out of his position, but it’s a fruitless endeavor.

“Your mind will be mine, show me your secrets, Spider-Man.” There’s some kind of voice modulator over the cloaked figure’s voice, and it sends a chill down Peter’s spine.

“I got a secret for you, jackass. Big Mac sauce is just Thousand Island.” Gunshots. The figure above Peter groans in pain and loosens their grip enough for Peter to wriggle free. The figure lunges for Peter again, holding him against their chest with a glowing hand next to his head.

“Drop your weapons, Deadpool, or I’ll kill him.”

Wade doesn’t hesitate for even a moment, instantly disposing of his twin pistols. The villain (Peter has officially decided this person is definitely a bad guy) pauses for a moment, as if wondering what to do next. Peter can smell a sharp tinge of iron in the air—blood. The villain is bleeding—a lot, Peter is guessing, and they need to get out of here soon if they want to make it out of this alive.

They come to a decision and push Peter towards Wade, who catches Peter in his arms when he stumbles against him. Wade freezes for a moment to look down at Peter, and in that second of idleness, two blasts are fired at them.

When they hit, heat explodes across Peter’s body. He has enough mental capacity to notice the figure quickly retreating into a dark alleyway, but is unable to tell much more of what happens after that, because the pain settles in.

Pain as Peter has never felt it before. It surrounds his body, permeates his flesh, and shakes him to his core.Pain so unfathomably unbearable that he is surprised he is even upright. He hears Wade groan in agony as he falls to the ground. For a short moment, Peter reaches out to Wade before he drops to his knees, .

Peter’s head is pounding. He shoves the palms of his heads into his eye sockets, trying and failing to relieve the agonizing throbbing in his skull. He looks over to Wade, who seems to be experiencing the same kind of pain as Peter. Peter feels tears pricking at the corners of his eyes and his head feels like it’s going to implode any second. He collapses on the ground, curling in on himself, willing for a quick death.

This was not how his day was supposed to go.

Darkness quickly consumes him.

 

* * *

 

When Peter regains consciousness, he immediately notices the dull pain in the back of his skull. It’s muted and way more manageable than before, but it’s still the first thing he’s aware of. The second thing he’s aware of is that he’s on a couch in an apartment that isn’t his. He takes a moment to examine in his surroundings. The room is painted an off-white color and there are no photos or decorations on the walls. There’s a coffee table with a glass of water and a bottle of ibuprofen sitting on the edge closest to Peter. There are no identifying features in the room. If it weren’t for the familiar smell and the Spider-Man blanket draped over Peter’s body, Peter would have no idea that this was Wade’s apartment.

Footsteps echo in from the adjacent hallway, and Peter sits up to look around. His head throbs in response and he winces. Wade walks in, wearing sweatpants, a hoodie, gloves, and his mask still covering his face. He spots Peter struggling to sit up and rushes to his side, placing gentle hands on each of Peter’s shoulders.

“Hey, hey, hey. It’s okay. Take a breath, slow down.” Wade coaxes Peter into lying down and hands him the glass of water. “How are you feeling?”

Peter takes the glass of water and 2 tablets, hoping they might put at least a dent in his aching pain. “I’ve definitely been better, but I’ve also been much worse.”

Wade nods his head slowly and fiddles with the edge of the blanket. “Yeah, those blasts were about as fun as the walk-in line at the DMV. Maybe even less fun than that.”

“You didn’t, um, look under my mask or anything, did you?” Peter coughs awkwardly, feeling kind of rude for asking, but needing to know.

Wade stands up abruptly. “No.” There’s frustration at the implied accusation, but Wade does a pretty good job of concealing it.

Peter clears his throat, not knowing what else to say, and hating the silence that follows.

**You should’ve done it. For professional reasons, of course.**

_Or so you can add a face to your Spidey spank bank._

Peter looks back up at Wade, confused. “Um, what are you talking about?”

“I didn’t say anything.” Wade shrugs and goes to the kitchen. “You hungry?”

Peter doesn’t understand why Wade’s acting weird, but chalks it up to his usual spontaneous quirkiness. “Uh, sure. Whatcha got?”

Wade lists off all the things he could cook for Peter, most of which are Mexican cuisine. They agree on rice and stir-fry, and Peter offers to help. Wade has him do easy stuff, AKA things he can do while sitting down. Every couple minutes, Wade glances back at Peter as if checking to make sure he’s still upright and alive. Peter appreciates the sentiment, even if he finds it entirely unnecessary.

They eat mostly in silence, but as silence is not exactly Wade’s forte and he feels the need to ramble on about something or other. Peter enjoys the distraction from the ache in his skull.

Wade finishes his meal and pushes his plate aside. “So that guy earlier with the shooty fireballs, what was his deal?”

Peter shrugs and pushes some rice around on his plate. “Not sure. Said I should ‘show them my secrets’ or something of the sort.”

_You should show us your secrets. And by secrets, I mean your butt._

“Oh my god, Wade.” Peter rolls his eyes.

“What?”

“Why do you say things like that?”

Wade looks around in confusion. “I’m not saying anything, Spidey.”

**Wait a moment, can the kid hear us?**

Peter is starting to get frustrated, he’s not understanding what the joke is here. “Of course I can hear you, I’m like two feet away.”

Wade looks like he’s had an epiphany, and Peter can’t tell from if it was a good or bad one. “Baby boy, you can hear the boxes?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter is 90% sure that he's being punished for that time he wiped his nose on Mickey Mouse's sleeve at Disneyland when he was a little kid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> like always, italics for yellow box, bold for white box
> 
> you guys have left me so many nice comments and I'm so happy you're so interested in this story!! I tried to update super fast since some of y'all said you were DYING to have more and I refuse to let anyone die on my watch. enjoy!!! :)

“What are you talking about, Wade?”

Wade pushes his chair away from the table and starts pacing the room. He drags his hands down his mask-covered face. “This has got to be my worst nightmare. Okay, no, my worst nightmare is being vored by a ravenous pack of minions. Those evil little jaundice testicles. Sometimes I have a nightmare where I work in food service and Nick Fury comes in and is a super rude customer and asks to speak to the manager.” Wade goes silent in contemplation for a moment, and then shivers. “What were we talking about again?”

Peter is really starting to think that Deadpool really _is_ as crazy as they all say, and he decides he should really get out of here as soon as he can. “Okay, you’ve been a great host but I really think it’s time for me to leave now.”

“What? No, you can’t leave. You’re injured. I would be remiss in my responsibilities as your super-bro to let you be alone in this state.” Wade sounds concerned, not evil or as if he’s plotting to steal Peter’s organs when he’s not looking, but Peter is exhausted and he wants to go home. He wants a hot shower and to change out of his suit and to maybe watch a few episodes of _Tidying Up With Marie Kondo_ , and to just get back into normal. Or at least _his_ normal.

“It’s okay, Wade—I am officially relieving you of your duties.”

_Pfft… Duties._

**You are so immature.**

“Can you both shut up? You’re making me look bad.” Wade sounds irritated and Peter doesn’t think he gets to be annoyed when he’s the one behind all this nonsense.

**To be fair, you didn’t look so good to begin with. We all know why you really wear that mask all the time.**

_Major case of the ugly._

“That’s kind of rude, you don’t even know what I look like,” Peter says indignantly, finding he’s having trouble following what’s going on, but knows an insult when he hears one.

“They’re not talking to you, Spidey, they’re talking to me.” Wade sounds even more upset. He folds his hands over the top of his head and lets out a frustrated groan.

“Who’s they?”

Wade snaps towards Peter, “The boxes! Like I keep trying to tell you!” Peter flinches and Wade sighs, trying to calm himself down.

“Okay, okay.” Peter holds his hands up defensively. “And who are these boxes?”

“They don’t really have names so I just refer to them as White or Yellow. They talk to me, usually to make fun of me or annoy me.” He points up to something either that Peter cannot see, or simply is not there. “First showed up in Wolverine Origins #21, and now they won’t go away. Well, sometimes they do. They’re not in the movies. And most fanfiction writers leave them out, god bless them. But _some_ of them,” he fakes a cough, “Won’t give me a fucking break.”

That normal that Peter was referring to earlier—yeah, he wants that, like now. He doesn’t know what to say. To him it sounds like Wade hears voices in his head, and somehow, Peter is hearing them too, unless this is all some elaborate joke—which he hasn’t completely ruled out. He’s used to a little tomfoolery and confusion with Wade here and there but this is just a twisted mess that he’s not sure he can unravel. Maybe… Maybe that villain had something to do with it. Maybe it was those blasts! Maybe they were intended to allow the villain to read Peter’s mind to find out his identity or something of the sort. So perhaps when both Wade and Peter were struck it gave them some kind of mental link, but Wade couldn’t hear Peter’s thoughts… Or could he? Peter’s heart started to race at the prospect.

He thinks as hard as he can, ‘Wade if you can hear this clap twice.’

Nothing.

Okay, so Wade _can’t_ hear Peter’s thoughts—probably. Unless he’s trying to hide it.

So Peter tries again, ‘Wade, I’ve always thought socks and sandals were extremely sexy.’

Nothing.

That proves it, Wade definitely would’ve had the need to say something in response to that. So Wade _definitely_ can’t hear Peter’s thoughts. Good. But it begs the question—why can’t he? Why can Peter only hear Wade’s thoughts, or rather the voices in Wade’s head? Is it because Wade was shot first? Or because of his healing factor? Would it eventually wear off or were they stuck like this forever? There were too many questions without answers, too many pieces in motion for Peter to sort out on his own. He wonders if the person who attacked them—and who was responsible for this mess in the first place—could answer any of these questions. Or if they could fix this.

There’s only one way to find out, he supposes. But even just the idea of facing that… _thing_ again was daunting.

Peter realizes he hasn’t responded to Wade for a few seconds so he simply says, “That’s rough buddy.”

Wade just shakes his head dejectedly and goes to wash the dishes. “If you really wanna leave, I’m not going to stop you. I’m not trying to keep you here against your will.”

**Oh, how noble.**

Peter is pretty sure that one of the boxes said that last bit, but he’s not sure which one. He’s gonna have to get used to this. Or better yet, get away from it entirely. At least until he can find the person responsible and beat some answers out of them. But first, home. Shower. Marie Kondo. Then beating up baddies.

“Okay, I’m gonna go. I’ll keep an ear to the ground and see if I can find out anything about our buddy with the very painful fireworks. I’ll keep in touch to let you know if I learn anything useful. In the meantime, please don’t do anything stupid to tip them off, and if you can, try not to kill anybody for a while.”

“I mean, I can try, but no promises.”

Peter nods, acknowledging that that’s about as good as he’s going to get. He unlocks the latch and slides the window open, but pauses.

“Thank you. For looking after me.” Peter ducks his head and leaves the apartment. As much as he appreciates Wade’s help, he wants to get out of here. He’s had a little too much excitement for the day, and he needs take a break from being Spider-Man and just be Peter Parker for a while.

He leaps from Wade’s building, feeling a growing sensation of nausea in his stomach and pain in his skull. He ignores it and shoots a web to a nearby building to swing in the direction of Queens. Halfway through his swing, that blinding pain returns, and Peter finds himself hurtling through the air, approaching the ground at a startling speed. He braces himself for impact, but is unconscious before the ground comes up to meet him.

 

* * *

 

Peter blinks his eyes open to an unfamiliar room. Whose bed is he—oh, god damn it.

Wade walks into the room with a first aid kit, and Peter can’t help the groan that escapes his throat. He’s frustrated. He just wants this day to be over, but here he is, back at Wade’s apartment, in his bed no less, covered in cuts and bruises, head pounding, and no closer to getting home than he was when he first awoke.

“What happened? I remember swinging home and then—”

“You ate shit.” Wade uses a cotton ball soaked with rubbing alcohol to clean up a nasty cut on Peter’s hip. Peter hisses and Wade’s hand stills.

_Don’t hurt him, you big bastard._

“No, it’s alright, I’m okay.” Peter has survived so much worse than a minor fall like this.

_Oh my god, he talked to me!_

**I’ll try to contain my excitement.**

“So… Why’d you fall? Were you testing to see if I’d catch you? I didn’t, by the way. Total splat.” Wade continues to clean Peter’s wounds, and the newfound gentleness in Wade’s ministrations isn’t lost on Peter.

“My head started hurting again, almost as much as when we first got hit. I wonder what triggered it.” Peter hopes it was just the sudden motion, but somewhere in the back of his mind a worse idea is cooking—and Peter hopes against hope that it’s not the case.

“Yeah, I felt that too. Could it be some kind of link? Like I was feeling your pain?” Wade bandages some of the cuts that are poking out of holes in Peter’s suit and then pulls out a needle to stitch up one of the worst ones. The feeling in Peter’s gut worsens. Is it too much to ask for Peter’s intuition to be wrong just once?

“I… I don’t think so. I think…” Peter lets out a resigned sigh, and then continues, “I think it was the distance.” Wade looks alarmed or maybe in disbelief—hard to tell behind the mask. “Try going down to the lobby or something.”

Wade finishes up with the stitches on Peter’s thigh, stands up and exits the room. With each passing moment as Wade gets further and further away, the dull buzz in the back of Peter’s head becomes sharper and more intense. When Wade returns, the pain mutes again.

“Well this is crap. So I can hear these ‘boxes’ and now we’re basically stuck together because if we get too far away we’ll pass out. This is just getting better and better.”

_Sounds like the dream to me. He can’t leave us now._

**There must be something legitimately wrong with you if you think this is a good development.**

_Well you know how it happens in movies, forced proximity leads to romance._

**That is incredibly rape-y. That’s barely a step below Stockholm Syndrome.**

_Hey, it’s not like we abducted the guy, we’re victims in this just as much as he is._

Peter ignores the boxes. He can now distinguish Wade’s voice from the boxes, but he still doesn’t know which is which, and he’s not entirely sure it matters, since most of the things they say are utter nonsense.

“I guess if we’re stuck like this we might as well try to make this as manageable as possible. Let’s go to my apartment so I can get out of this suit, especially now that it’s more hole than suit.”

“Are you inviting me to your apartment? Where you will disrobe? I like where this is headed so far, Webs.” Wade wiggles his eyebrows and Peter rolls his eyes. He may regret this later but…

“It’s actually… It’s Peter.”

_Did… Did he just? Oh my god! I’m gonna scream!_

**You already are.**

Peter snickers and pokes Wade, who seems to have shut down.

“Thanks,” he clears his throat awkwardly, “For, um, trusting me. I know this is a big step for you. But you can rest assured that even Thor himself wouldn’t be able to get it out of me. My lips are sealed.” Wade mimes locking his lips with an invisible key and then throwing it away.

 

* * *

 

Peter’s apartment is small, sure. But it’s home, and at the moment, there’s nowhere he’d rather be. It seems Wade is thinking something similar with how he’s inspecting everything with wonder and astonishment.

“This is honestly the best day of my life.”

Peter chuckles, “Earlier you compared today to your nightmare of, and I quote, ‘being vored by a ravenous pack of minions.’”

Wade waves his hand dismissively. “I mean I can’t speak from personal experience, but from what I’ve heard, that’s definitely much worse.”

Peter laughs unabashedly. Sometimes Wade’s shenanigans were entirely entertaining. “I’m gonna shower and change. Feel free to use the TV or make a sandwich or something.”

The cuts on his body burn in the hot spray but it’s a welcome distraction from all the emotions he doesn’t want to label or even acknowledge. Today was taxing, sure, but some small part of him is beaming at the fact that he can hear Wade’s thoughts and that they need to be near each other, at least for now. But like always, he ignores that part.

When he gets out of the shower, he stares in the mirror for a long time. He looks at the bruises on his arms and legs, he looks at the brown hair that’s laying across his forehead. He combs it back out of his face and decides he looks presentable. He throws on some joggers and a t-shirt with a very faded science pun on it and looks in the mirror one more time.

Is he nervous? Why is he nervous? He tries to shut it out when he notices pink in his cheeks.

He leaves the bathroom and goes back into the living room/kitchen area. Wade is watching a documentary about weather or something. At the sound of Peter’s feet on the vinyl floors, he turns around and gasps.

Peter can feel heat rising in his cheeks again. He coughs. “Uh, hi.” He can feel that the smile on his face is uncomfortable, but to be fair, so is he.

“Wow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please leave me a comment or message me on Tumblr (king-emmakate) because it honestly does make me want to update quickly when I know you guys are invested in our boys :) 
> 
> thank you!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> These boys have been connected for like a day and they're already having emotional fits. What a mood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Matt Murdock joins the battle

_I’d like to take a moment just to acknowledge how blessed we are in this moment, thank you God, thank you baby Jesus, and thank you Force ghost of Obi-Wan Kenobi. We couldn’t have done it without you._

**You know Obi-Wan isn’t the holy spirit, right?**

_Have you even seen the prequels? Come on, tell me that man is not holy._

Peter chuckles at the boxes and goes to pull out his laptop, sitting on the couch next to Wade. “Okay, so, I have this police scanner application on my laptop, and I was thinking I could write a script for it to notify us of anything out of the ordinary—reports of mutants attacking civilians, super-powered bad guys, the works. Maybe our friend will come out of hiding so we can stop by and ask a few questions.”

Wade says nothing. Doesn’t even move. Peter waits a few seconds and then nudges Wade’s foot with his own.

“Hello? Earth to Wade?”

**Big guy, you’re making an ass of yourself. Say something.**

_I think Wade.exe has stopped working, and I gotta say, I wholeheartedly concur with this reaction, because damn. I think we’re gonna need to consider offshore banking, possibly in Luxembourg, because believe me when I tell you that our local Spidey spank bank is not equipped to handle a deposit of this size._

Peter’s starting to feel annoyed at his silence. “Wade.”

**He’s not even that pretty, come on. You’ve seen some much more stunning specimens.**

“Please don’t refer to me as a ‘specimen,’ I’m definitely more of a ‘creature’.” Peter sighs and goes to work on writing code, leaving Wade to his thoughts.

_How could you say he’s not that pretty? If the feeling of peeling that protective layer of plastic off a TV screen was a person, it would be him. He looks like the son of an angel and like, a nerdy scientist. Big, brown eyes, smooth skin, and he smells like rain and fresh laundry. I bet he tastes like—_

_“_ Jesus Christ in a baby bouncer, okay, we get it!” Wade covers his ears like that will shut the boxes up, or at least stop Peter from hearing them.

For the moment, though, they go silent. As much as Peter was disturbed at the things they were saying, somehow the silence is much worse. Suddenly Peter is alone with his own thoughts and not sharing someone else’s, which gives him ample time to consider what the box thinks he tastes like, and none of the options are good. He clears his throat and finishes the task at hand while Wade hugs a throw pillow to his chest and pouts.

“This blows. Why can you hear the boxes? Is this just another convenient fanfiction plot like having to share a bed? Except you have to listen to the two worst conversationalists in the linguistic history of the world? I can’t make them shut up—at least not in a way that you would approve of.” Wade puts the pillow down and stands abruptly, going to the window and gazing out of it.

“Oh, I guess I never shared my theories with you—that was more of an internal monologue moment.” Peter sets his laptop on the coffee table and turns towards Wade, with his legs folded under him. “I think whatever we were hit with created some kind of mental link between us. I don’t know why I can only hear your thoughts—”

“These aren’t my thoughts, Peter, the boxes just say whatever they want to. I have no control over them.” Wade turns away from the window and looks at Peter.

“Okay, I don’t know why I can only hear the _boxes_ , and you can’t hear my thoughts. Could be a multitude of reasons. Your healing factor, the order in which we were hit, maybe it’s your open-book nature. I don’t know. But if we want answers, we have to go to the root of the problem. I think we can both agree that we want to dissolve this mental link or whatever.”

_No! If that happens, we’ll just be stuck with this bozo for company! We finally have someone else to talk to who isn’t a complete moron._

_“_ Hey!” Peter and Wade say in unison.

_Plus if you’re forced to hang out with us, I get to look at that stellar face, and maybe even get a peak at that heavenly body._

Peter blushes and looks away from Wade.

**God, stop being so unbearably creepy.**

Wade clears his throat, “Yes, I think we should figure this out as soon as possible so you can go back to your normal life and be able to get far away from me.”

There’s some quality to Wade’s voice that makes Peter frown. It’s that self-deprecating tone that he sometimes slides into when they’re having their ‘rooftop bro-downs,’ as Wade calls it. That tone always sets off sirens in Peter’s head but he never knows what to do about it.

After a pause, Peter coughs and mumbles, “Do you, um, wanna watch Marie Kondo with me?”

Wade all but jumps onto the couch, “That would definitely spark joy!”

 

* * *

 

There’s something very disorienting about waking up from a nap you didn’t know you took. So when Peter wakes up, he notices the TV screen with the “Are you still watching?” message plastered across it first, and it isn’t until he hears a soft snoring noise that he realizes he’s resting on Wade’s chest. Wade’s arm is encircling his frame, hand resting on Peter’s stomach. Peter’s heart flutters and he sucks in a breath, trying to plan his next move. He slowly lifts Wade’s arm off of him and onto the back of the couch.

Wade jerks awake and Peter freezes, head still tucked into Wade’s neck. He can feel Wade look down at him so he feigns sleep. Through Wade’s skin-tight long sleeve shirt, Peter can feel his heart beating, and his pulse quickens.

_Don’t move, whatever you do. Interrupt this little angel’s rest and I will find a way to murder you._

**He does look kinda cute while he’s sleeping.**

_You’re finally coming to your senses!_

**Yeah, sure. We all know how the _other voice_ feels about the kid, but you’re in love with him, aren’t you, big guy?**

Wade says nothing, but Peter can feel him holding in a breath. Slowly, he shifts away from Peter, gently moving him to lay on the couch with a pillow under his head. He pulls the blanket off the back of the couch and drapes it over Peter. He hears Wade’s footsteps recede into the kitchen area.

_What are you doing? Why would you walk away from him? He was asleep on you! You had a foot in the door, you just gotta go for it._

“He wasn’t cuddling with me because he wanted to, he just happened to fall asleep on me.” Wade’s voice is low and quiet, but Peter can still hear the sadness in it.

**It’s best not to get your hopes up.**

“I know, trust me, I know. He’s never gonna feel anything for me. I’m horrifying to look at, I’m an awful human being, and I have psychological issues that need attention.”

**If you were attractive, society could overlook the last two, but unfortunately you look like you have a perpetual case of road rash.**

“I know!” Wade lets out a deep breath and quietly repeats, “I know.”

Peter hears Wade pace for a moment. He doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know if he has the emotional maturity or the social skills to have a heart-to-heart with Wade right now. And he doesn’t think he can really comfort Wade about his self-image problems when Peter doesn’t even know what he looks like under the mask. He can guess, based on what he’s seen when Wade’s injured and his suit is ripped or when they’re eating and Wade has to pull his mask up a little, that Wade’s skin is covered in scars or whatever they are. As bad as he feels about it, Peter can’t exactly say that he doesn’t notice them or they’re not a big deal. They’re… pretty bad. He totally understand why Wade would dislike how he looks. He remembers when he was in high school, he had really bad acne—made worse by the fact that he wore a dirty mask over his face every night. It was a major blow to his self-confidence. He felt like anytime someone looked at him, it was all they could see. Peter’s self-worth was reduced to his face. It took him years to get used it, and eventually it went away. He can’t imagine how he’d feel, looking that way for the rest of his life. He supposes it wouldn’t matter to him much now, with him focusing on Spider-Man and his job at the newspaper so heavily it gave him very little room to think about much else, especially trying to be in a relationship. Trying to hide half of his life from someone seemed difficult and taxing, and he wouldn’t want to inadvertently make someone a target because they decided to date him. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if someone got hurt or killed because of him. Especially if it were someone he loved.

The lock on the apartment door clicks.

_Where do you think you’re going? You can’t leave. If you get too far from Peter, you’ll hurt him._

The door swings open. “I can’t be in here anymore, it smells like him. It’s driving me crazy.”

Peter listens as Wade leaves the apartment and closes the door, and hears when he just plops down on the floor in the hallway. Peter sits up, steeling himself to go out and speak to Wade and maybe cheer him up, but as soon as he stands, his laptop chirps.

Peter gets suited up quickly, and knocks on the wall next to the front door. Wade comes back inside, still brooding, if his posture is anything to go by.

“There’s a bank robbery in process in Hell’s Kitchen.” Wade stands up straighter, and Peter continues, “Sounds like there’s hostages and possible super-powered suspects. Definitely doesn’t sound like our guy’s MO but we should help out anyway.”

“Hell’s Kitchen? Maybe we’ll run into Daredevil! Team Red unite!” Wade rushes to his duffel bagon the kitchen counter and pulls out his suit and weapons. He suits up and does a quick gun check. “Ready when you are, Webs.”

 

* * *

 

On the roof of the bank, Wade hops off his back and stretches his arms and legs. Peter’s spider-senses alert him that someone’s approaching. He signals to Wade, who unsheathes his swords.

“What do you two think you’re doing?” Daredevil emerges from the shadows.

Peter can’t help the smile that appears on his face. He hadn’t seen Matt in a while, and was worried he had gotten himself beaten and bloodied by another group of fabulously wealthy ninjas or a mob boss with a grudge. He figures he should have checked in on him, but he’s been preoccupied with so many other things, it must have just slipped his mind. He’s glad to see him now, though—alive and well, and with that perpetually pissed off tone that is so integral to Daredevil’s image.

“Red! The gang’s all here.” Wade slings an arm around Peter’s shoulders and holds his other arm to Daredevil, who willfully ignores it.

“There are hostages in there.” Matt jerks his head to the side, “Ten of them. Twelve gunmen. Something else… I can’t tell what it is. But with so many hostages, this needs to be done quickly and quietly. I know you’re quick, Spider-Man. Your friend hasn’t quite mastered the ‘quiet’ part.”

Wade pulls away from Peter. “I resent that. I can be very sneaky when I want to. I just usually don’t want to.” He shrugs.

“You should stay behind,” Matt grunts and turns to the door on the roof.

“He, uh, can’t, actually. It’s a, um, long story,” Peter says meekly, and follows behind Matt.

Matt nods contemplatively. “I see.”

Wade laughs hysterically. Matt clenches his jaw and Wade laughs even harder. Peter tries (and fails) not to smirk.

“You almost done?” There’s frustration in Matt’s voice.

Wade mimes wiping a tear from his eye. “It’s funny because you’re blind.”

Matt shakes his head, opens the roof door and descends down the stairs. Peter shoots a judgmental look over to Wade, and is pretty sure that he picks up on it, but he still throws his thumbs up instead of looking apologetic. Peter rolls his eyes and follows down the stairs.

**You’re an asshole, you know that?**

_I thought it was funny._

 

* * *

It only takes 20 minutes to take down the bank robbers and their companion—Sandman, which cues Peter asking Matt and Wade if either of them had a vacuum. (Wade and Peter thinks it’s funny, and Matt only sighs, but Peter thinks he sees a small smile on the devil’s face). Matt and Peter are able to take out a few of the robbers silently without anyone but the hostages noticing. Wade gives away their presence by bursting out into a god awful rendition of _Enter Sandman_ , much to Matt’s annoyance. Matt and Peter quickly take out the rest of the goons and Wade fires a round into a water main, which bursts, soaking Sandman and everything else in the bank. All hostages survive, but one hostage is left with a gunshot wound in the arm as a result of one of the robbers realizing his buddies were all being taken down by Spider-Man and Daredevil.

When they come out of the bank, the police decide they need to lecture Matt and Wade on their interference, saying things like, “someone could’ve gotten killed” and “these things require patience, that’s what we have professional negotiators for,” but as soon as they see Spider-Man it becomes “thank you Spider-Man” and “what would we do without you, Spider-Man?” This irritates Wade to no end, but Matt couldn’t care less if the police approve of him or not.

Wade and Peter argue about Wade’s outburst that got a hostage shot, and that argument dissolves into another argument about how Wade can’t take things seriously, which prompts Matt to growl that they “should just bang already.” Wade and Peter laugh awkwardly, but otherwise go silent.

They don’t speak again until they’re back at Peter’s apartment, when the silence becomes too much.

“What if we don’t find our guy?” Wade asks while fiddling with his pistols.

Peter doesn’t look up from his book. “We will.”

“Okay, what if we do, but we’re stuck like this forever?”

Peter glances over at Wade. “I don’t know. But we won’t be.”

“How do you know?”

Peter sets his book down and turns towards him. “I don’t know, okay? I’m worried too—if we can’t get this sorted out, I’d have to quit my job. Can’t exactly show up at the paper with Deadpool following me around like a lost puppy. We’d have to move in together. We’d probably drive each other insane and fight constantly. We’d probably hate each other. I don’t know what’s gonna happen. But it has to work, because if it doesn’t…”

Peter doesn’t want to say he’d hate his life, but he would. Privacy is a big deal for him. It’s why he lives alone, doesn’t have many friends, tries to be invisible. It doesn’t matter how much he likes Wade. No one would want this. He certainly doesn’t. He’s gotta figure this out quick, or he’ll get fired anyway for taking too many sick days.

He remembers when he got his powers, he knew his life would never be the same. And he was right. It was different, it was better. He finally felt like he had a purpose, like he could do something for other people, maybe change the world, or at least change a few people’s lives. There was a sense of freedom that came along with being Spider-Man. Swinging through the city under a mask, feeling invincible and as if he was a part of something bigger than himself. He was Peter Parker, but he was Spider-Man too.

But this, this… connection or whatever is not freedom. It’s a ball and chain. He could still be Spider-Man, he could make it work. But Peter Parker? Peter Parker is dead for as long as Wade is stuck to him. What upside was there to this? He got to spend more time with Wade, sure. But how long would it take before they’re at each other’s throats, hating with every ounce of their beings?

Peter takes a deep breath. He’ll figure it out. They both will. They have to.

“You know what I think you need, Webs? A drink.”

 

* * *

 

Peter has never been to Sister Margaret’s before, and he doesn’t think he’s missed out. The place is filthy, full of some of the most sketchy characters Peter’s ever seen. Half of the patrons in the place look like they’re late for a Slipknot concert and the other half just look like they haven’t showered in a week. He knows a fight is going to break out at some point tonight, he can practically feel it in the air.

Wade drops Peter off at the bar. He’s wearing his Deadpool suit, but has a backpack slung over his shoulder that he definitely wasn’t carrying on the way here.

“Peter, this is Weasel. Weasel, Peter. Play nice, and Weasel, how about a Barking Spider for the kid. I’ll be right back.” Wade slips away to the bathroom, Peter assumes. Peter feels practically naked without Wade at his side, but it could be the buzzing at the back of his head telling him that Wade is too far away. It’s not painful, but on top of the fact that he’s in a seedy bar alone at the moment, Peter is slightly uncomfortable. He knows he could lay out this whole drunk ensemble if they pressed him, but he’d rather not have anyone asking how he’s so strong or how he learned to fight. So he keeps his eyes on the bar to avoid somehow offending one of the patrons with eye contact.

“So, are you Wade’s new piece?”

Peter looks up. Weasel is looking at him expectantly, and sliding a cocktail towards him.

“Excuse me?”

“Y’know, has Wade given you a hot beef injection? Played a good ol’ game of hide-the-sausage? Bumped uglies? Definitely ugly in Wade’s case.” Weasel chuckles at his own joke.

Peter doesn’t laugh. He takes a long sip from his cocktail, which is stronger than he was prepared for. He coughs and clears his throat. “No, we aren’t having sex, if that’s what you’re asking. We’re just friends.”

Weasel shrugs. “Just curious. I’ve never really seen him bring anyone here. You’re probably the first.” He picks up a washcloth and starts drying the glasses behind the bar. “How’d you meet Butter-face anyhow?”

“We, uh, run in some of the same circles.”

“Hmm. You a drug dealer?”

Peter splutters, “No, of course not!”

Weasel clicks his tongue. “Damn, I really want some cocaine.”

Peter smiles uncomfortably. “Sorry to disappoint.” He turns away from the bar and focuses on his drink and the decor of the bar. It really is a shithole in here.

“Oh no, what did he say to you?”

Peter turns towards Wade’s voice to be presented with a sight that almost knocks him off his chair.

Wade.

Without his mask.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yooooo Peter is screwed lol


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The old Peter can't come to the phone right now. Why? Oh, cause he's a drunk ass bitch & he's horny af

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I return to present to you: whatever the fuck this is. idk. enjoy.

Peter reminds himself to breathe and he takes in the rest of the sight; a dark red t-shirt that is much too tight to be legal, black jeans and white converse, and a white dad hat that has a Burger King-esque logo that says “Trap Queen.” Wade’s smile is shy, and blinding. A perfectly straight row of white teeth shine at him even from under the shadow that’s cast across his face by his hat.

God.

Peter swallows, noticing his throat has gone incredibly dry. He throws back the rest of his drink and all but slams it onto the bar.

“Hi.” He hears shyness or something similar in his own voice and inwardly cringes at it.

“Hey, baby boy.”

Peter swallows again, and pulls his eyes away from Wade for a moment. He hadn’t realized he was staring. “You’re not wearing your mask.”

“Observant as ever.” Wade chuckles at Peter and waves at Weasel, who goes to make Peter another drink and make something for Wade. Wade and Weasel chat, but Peter hears none of it. He’s incredibly preoccupied with much more important things, like examining those heavily scarred arms that are probably as wide as Peter’s head, or the fact that one of Wade’s pant legs is rolled up a little bit to reveal a long sock with tiny Spider-Man masks on it.

It’s just a sock, but that doesn’t mean Peter’s heart isn’t beating faster than it should be, and that Peter’s cheeks aren’t heating up at the thought that Wade’s wearing Spider-Man merchandise.

Peter _is_ Spider-Man.

Wade’s basically wearing Peter’s clothes. Not really, but let him have his moment.

When he comes back down to earth, Wade is drinking beer and looking at Peter with an expression that he can’t read.

Peter looks down at the drink that’s placed in front of him on the bar, embarrassed at being caught staring. “So what made you decide to take your mask off?”

Wade leans in and Peter’s heart races, and he tries not to breathe in Wade’s fresh and intoxicating scent too deeply. “You trusted me with your name and face. I want you to know that I trust you too. Sorry that my face is like a car accident compared to yours, but it’s what I got.”

“You seem like, oddly okay with me seeing your face. You always acted like you’d die before you’d show me your face.”

Wade laughs. “Some guy in the bathroom offered me a little coke, so I’m fuckin’ flying right now.”

“Wade! You’re high right now?”

“I mean, right now, yeah. I’ll sober up any minute now. That’s one downside of my healing factor.” Wade exhales, and Peter takes a moment to assess his own sobriety. He was never much of a drinker. If you can believe it, he wasn’t invited to many parties in high school and college, and didn’t really care much about getting drunk alone. But from the few times he had drank, he knew he was a bit of a lightweight. His own healing factor sometimes dulled the effects, but not enough to keep him from getting tipsy from just a drink or two, like he’s starting to feel now.

Wade sighs frustratedly. “Yup, gone. Okay, I’m just gonna go kill myself, then.”

Wade turns like he’s gonna walk away, but Peter grabs his arm. Wade looks down at it with wide eyes and seems embarrassed that Peter’s touching him, so Peter lets go.

“Why?”

“Because I’m hideous and you’re gorgeous and I don’t know why I did this in the first place. I mean I was high off my tits but I still should’ve known that you’d be disgusted by me and that I should just keep that mask on at all times and not disgrace anyone with—”

“Why would I be disgusted by you? I mean by anything other than your minion vore dream.”

Wade’s mouth is agape as he looks at Peter in what seems to be disbelief. Peter hopes the smile on his face comes off as kind—he knows this is a big deal for Wade, and he needs to be careful about how he proceeds.

“All the…” Wade pauses and shakes his head. “The scars, the baldness, the lack of eyebrows, the fact that I look like a Taco Bell Gordita Crunch that’s been sitting on the dashboard of a Toyota Rav4 in a Walmart parking lot for a few hours before being consumed and then diarrhea’d back up into a roadside port-a-potty.”

“That was alarmingly specific, and I really don’t want to know why you would know what that looks like, but I don’t think you look like that. I think you look like how I pictured you… but a little different. A little better.”

Wade’s eyes go wide and he looks away, going to sip his drink, but Peter still notices the redness in Wade’s cheeks.

“I don’t think you’re hideous or disgusting. Everyone is their own worst critic. I look in the mirror and wonder why I’m so lanky. You obviously don’t have that problem. But everyone has a problem, everyone has something they want to change about themselves. Or multiple things. Everyone is insecure about something. And we tend to overestimate the negative things other people notice about us and underestimate the positive things they notice about us. But the people who really care about us don’t even have to overlook the negative things, they almost automatically edit them out. Or they come to love those things too.” Peter takes a risk and takes Wade’s hand in his. “I don’t know if you’ll believe me when I say your skin, your face does not bother me in the slightest. But even if you don’t, it’s just a face. A face won’t stop you from being loved. Ask Steve Buscemi. Or Gary Busey.”

Wade is quiet for a long moment. He looks down at where their hands are touching and he strokes the back of Peter’s hand with his thumb. Just that small touch sends a shiver down Peter’s spine.

“Thanks.” Wade’s voice is low, like he doesn’t want any of the other patrons to hear him. To be honest, Peter almost forgot they were in a public space. “Nothing like the fact that Steve Buscemi is married to remind us that we all have a chance.”

Peter chuckles and a shy smile appears on Wade’s mouth. Peter has a sudden and _strong_ urge to kiss it. He doesn’t blame it on the alcohol. He knows exactly why he wants to do it. But he resists.

“Hey, where are the boxes? Haven’t heard them in a while.”

_Wade told us that we were upsetting you and said if we cooled it and stayed quiet for a night, he’d promise to watch that Spider-Man spanking porn._

“Goddamn it, why would you tell him that?”

**Probably to embarrass you, although I think you’re perfectly capable of doing so yourself.**

“Thank you!”

Peter laughs aloud. “The Spider-Man what now? Is that a thing?”

Wade nods emphatically. “Yeah, it’s super popular. I’ve seen a bunch.” A pause. “Why did I tell you that?”

**See? Perfectly capable.**

Peter laughs again.

 

* * *

 

The night goes incredibly well, by Peter’s standards, which, to be fair, are incredibly low, but he has a good time anyway. He’s not sure that he’s very fond of Weasel, but he and Wade get along really well, and it’s nice to know that Wade has friends, or at least people who don’t just think he’s an idiot or dangerous or a dangerous idiot, as so many of the Avengers, X-Men, and most people in the superhero coomunity do. Seeing Wade interact so freely with someone other than Peter was refreshing. Peter wishes it could be more like that between the two of them.

Before this whole mess he was friendly (ish) to Wade, but he was always a little bit reserved. He always felt like he had to hide a little bit of himself because he was Spider-Man, not Peter Parker. After they were connected and Peter finally let Wade into that side of his life, Peter was too caught up in being upset at his situation and dreading the implications of this event that he hardly stopped to think about the fact that he was actually pretty lucky. He was connected to Wade—to someone who, although his methods differed from Peter’s, saved good people and took down bad people and fought for what he believed in. Someone who looked after Peter and trusted him and allowed him to be himself without judgment. Someone who had superb biceps and a trim waist and wow—okay, the alcohol is definitely getting to him. But maybe, maybe this didn’t have to be destructive and stressful. Maybe it didn’t have to be all bad. Maybe some good could come of this, or so Peter hoped.

It wasn’t until Peter’s head was almost a permanent fixture on Wade’s shoulder that Wade decided they really should head home. Wade drops two hundred-dollar bills on the counter of the bar and he and Peter leave the bar. Peter stumbles and Wade steadies him with a tiny smile on his face. He supports Peter by the waist and calls a taxi, and Peter’s hands sneak under the hem of Wade’s t-shirt, seeking warmth and attempting to escape the biting air of New York City in the nighttime. He can feel Wade shiver at the touch, he can feel the mottled skin under his fingertips, and he can feel Wade’s tight muscles shifting under his skin.

_This is super gay. I’m living for it._

The taxi pulls up and Wade helps Peter get into it without hitting his head on the door frame. Wade follows him into the cab and Peter sits in the middle seat, scooting as close to Wade as the space would allow and shoving his head under Wade’s arm so that his massive bicep is laying across Peter’s shoulders. Peter’s ear rests over Wade’s heart, and he can hear it beating frantically in his chest.

Peter feels the taxi roll forward and Wade tells the taxi driver an unfamiliar address, so Peter figures they’re headed to one of Wade’s many apartments/safe houses that are scattered across the city, although Peter couldn’t care less about their destination at the moment. He’s too busy focusing on the feel of Wade next to him, the way he’s sitting rigidly with his hands pressed together in between his knees as if holding himself back from touching Peter. The thought thrills him.

A voice in the back of his head tells him that he’s going too far and that he needs to chill, but he doesn’t care. He wants this—wants Wade. He doesn’t care that he’s drunk or that he’s probably going to be stuck to Wade for the rest of his life, so if he screws this up he’ll have to face it forever. All he cares about is that warm, strange skin that he really wants to taste, and those strong, powerful thighs that Wade is caging his own hands between.

Peter slides a hand up Wade’s arm, noting the way Wade shivers and bites his lip. He leans up close to Wade’s neck, and Wade shivers again, more intensely, as Peter’s breath hits his skin. Peter’s lips touch Wade’s neck gently, and Peter is momentarily shocked at his own forwardness, but the sudden tightness of his jeans and the quick drumming of his heart, pumping warm blood with high alcohol content through his veins help him to ignore the fact that he would _never_ do this sober.

His lips find Wade’s earlobe next, and he nibbles at it, tugging on it with his teeth. Wade groans deeply, and Peter smirks, taking note of that in his head. His hand cups the bulge in the front of Wade’s jeans and Wade gasps and quickly pushes Peter’s hand away, sending a guilty and apologetic look to the cab driver, who seems either to be ignoring them altogether or so desensitized to this kind of thing that it no longer bothers him, because his face is neutral.

Peter feels a wave of embarrassment, so he sits back in his seat, giving Wade a little more space, and simply intertwines his hand with Wade’s. Wade stares down at it for a long moment before silently curling his own fingers around the back of Peter’s hand.

The rest of the ride is shrouded in silence. Peter finds it difficult to stay still, his hands fidget with the need to touch Wade, and his head feels exceptionally heavy on his shoulders. Next to him, Wade seems to have calmed down some, as if Peter’s hand was a pacifying anchor within his own. The thought that he could calm Wade down with such a simple gesture was sweet, although he reminds himself that he was the reason Wade was so riled up in the first place.

When the taxi pulls up to the curb, Wade hands the driver cash—obviously too much, because the driver says something along the lines of ‘do you want change in twenties or tens’ to which Wade tells him to keep the change—and he helps Peter out of the car again.

Somewhere in Peter’s mind, he tells himself to pay attention to where they are, memorize his surroundings, try and figure out what street they’re on or at least what part of the city they’re in.He looks around momentarily, noticing that the area is nice, and the apartment building they’re walking towards is _huge_. Peter knows that Wade has money from his ‘jobs’, but this place is… opulent. Peter suddenly feels incredibly poor. The newspaper doesn’t pay big bucks, but Peter has always felt like he has all he needs. He feels lucky to be able to afford an apartment in New York City without having to live with a roommate, but his apartment building is a shack compared to this palace. His income must be chump change compared to whatever Wade’s making.

“Come on, baby boy.”

Peter snaps out of his thoughts to hobble into the building. The lobby is even nicer than the outside, with bright marble floors and pristine, high ceilings. Wade leads Peter to an elevator and presses the button for the top floor. Peter leans heavily on Wade, using his drunken state as an excuse to get close to him. When the elevator doors slide shut, Peter pounces again, turning to push Wade against the wall of the elevator. He misjudges how hard he pushes Wade, and the metal of the wall groans and dents, and Wade sucks in a breath.

“Whoa, that was kinda…”

_Hot? Sexy? Scary? All of the above, combining to make the ultimate trifecta, threatening but also extremely arousing?_

Wade nods in agreement, and Peter chuckles.

“You want me to be rough with you? I can do that.” Peter growls deeply and lifts Wade up by the backs of his thighs, spreading them and wrapping them tightly around his waist. He slams Wade into the wall again, and the metal contorts further, but Wade shows no sign of being in pain. He goes at Wade’s neck, all teeth and tongue. Wade’s head bows to the side as he groans softly, offering Peter more skin to mar with bruises and—wait. He roughly sucks a hickey into Wade’s throat, and moves back to examine it. The skin is red for a mere couple of seconds before the mark disappears altogether.

Damn it.

**Healing factor, kid. Trust me, you’re not the first to be disappointed by that.**

“Oh yeah?” Peter bites Wade’s earlobe, mumbling against his skin, “Why is that? Does he sleep around a lot?”

**Yup, total slut.**

“Not anymore.” Peter grins devilishly, pulling back to look Wade in the eye. “You’re mine now, Wilson.”

Peter touches his forehead to Wade’s leaning in to finally, _finally_ taste those lips.

Wade’s hand covers Peter’s mouth and his expression is pained. “We… we shouldn’t be doing this.”

Peter rolls his eyes and moves in again, but Wade pushes his face away from his own.

“Peter.”

Peter pulls Wade’s hand off of his mouth. “What are you talking about, Wade?” He can feel his temper rising. “You can’t tell me you don’t want this—I can feel how hard you are, it’s stabbing me in the stomach. And I’m sure you can feel my dick on your ass, tell me if you think it’s interested or not.”

Wade frowns. “That’s not the problem, Peter.”

“Then what is? I want you, Wade. I want you to fuck me. No, I want to fuck you. No, I don’t know. Both.”

_I don’t mean to interrupt your moment, but I just gotta say, this is like, the longest elevator ride. Like, ever. I mean I know it’s a fictional elevator for gay purposes but this is just getting ridiculous._

“You’re drunk, Peter!”

Peter scoffs. “Obviously. Do you think I’d be doing or saying any of this if I was sober?” The answer is hell no. Peter is definitely too much of a little bitch—he’ll be the first to admit it—to make a move on Wade, much less to push him up against a wall and kiss him. He’d want to, but actually doing it is a different story.

Wade looks genuinely hurt. “If that’s how you feel, we definitely shouldn’t be doing this.” Wade pushes himself out of Peter’s hold and stands on the opposite side of the elevator with his arms crossed.

Peter knows something awful has just happened, and he’s not sure why or how to fix it. “Wade, I—”

The elevator doors slide open to reveal an incredibly large and well-decorated penthouse apartment.

“Holy shit.” Peter’s jaw drops as he admires the shockingly beautiful apartment. He didn’t think Wade had it in him, with the abstract paintings on the walls, the low lighting complemented by lightly-colored leather furniture. There’s a dry bar in one of the corners, and one wall of the penthouse is entirely made of glass. The view of New York City is beautiful and Peter wants to sit by the glass and just watch the night go by, but Peter’s distracted by Wade suddenly rushing into an adjacent hallway. Peter follows him to see where he’s going, and is met by the sight of a room filled with hundreds of guns, bags of cocaine, and lots of porn. Magazines, videos, Peter even thinks he sees a Spider-Man-themed porn collection off in one corner.

Wade slams the door shut and locks it with a key, which he then slides into his pocket, guilty expression on his face. “You, uh, weren’t supposed to see that.”

“That room doesn’t belong in this nice of an apartment.”

Wade laughs awkwardly. “It’s my party room.” Peter raises an eyebrow and Wade sighs. “What? You don’t think fabulously wealthy CEOs and the like have their own cocaine rooms?”

“I don’t think most fabulously wealthy CEOs have Spider-Man porn.”

Wade blanches. “You saw that too then.” He shakes his head. “But you’d be surprised, you’ve caught the eye and the hearts and the penises of many.”

“The only penis I want to catch is yours.”

Wade sighs deeply, “Pete—”

“It’s fine, I don’t need a lecture, I get it. I’ll stop.” Peter yawns and glances around. “Where can I sleep tonight?”

Wade leads Peter into a bedroom as swanky and ostentatious as the rest of the apartment—minus the ‘party room’—and Peter can’t help but launch himself onto the ridiculously huge bed.

“ _This_ is the guest bedroom? This is gigantic.” Peter relaxes into the extremely comfortable mattress. He thinks momentarily about how nice it would be if Wade would stop playing respectful gentleman and just crawl into this bed with Peter, maybe go a couple rounds.

“No, this is my bedroom. There is no guest bedroom—it became my cocaine room.”

Peter sits up, carrying his weight on his elbows. “So where are you sleeping?”

“Couch.”

“What? No. This is your place, I’m not gonna make you sleep on the couch. Come on, there’s plenty of room in this bed.” Peter motions to the space next to him that would likely fit 2 or 3 other people.

Wade shakes his head.

“Wade, you know I wasn’t lying when I said that I want you, right?”

Wade smiles sadly, and Peter feels his stomach drop. “I’ll see you in the morning.” He lingers for a moment, clearly going through lots of thoughts all at once. Then, slowly, hesitantly, he leans down and presses his lips to Peter’s forehead. It’s a gentle, fleeting touch, and Peter’s eyelids flutter shut at the intimacy. It’s almost like a quiet whisper of Wade’s love, so why does it feel so much like a rejection? For a second he fears that when he wakes up, Wade will be nowhere to be found, but then he remembers it’s impossible without putting them both through excruciating pain. Wade shuts off the lamp on the bedside table and leaves the room, but Peter can hear him standing right outside the door.

_You know if you don’t go back in there now, you might miss your chance forever, right?_

“I don’t care. I would never take advantage of him. Ever. I…” A whisper, “I love him.”

Peter feels an incredible urge to go to him, to hold him and show him that he can be loved back, but he stays rooted to the spot. Wade’s right, he’s drunk. He shouldn’t be doing it this way. He needs to do it the right way. And he’s not worried he’ll miss his chance, not when he knows that Wade Wilson loves him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Real talk: If anyone reading this suffers from acne or some other type of skin problem--you are not alone. I personally have been struggling with acne since 8th or 9th grade, and let me just say, I am sick of it. And I'm sick of people either ignoring it like it's not real or pretending it's some kind of horrendous disease and you should be shunned for it. It isn't. You aren't gross or ugly because of your skin. You aren't worthless because you don't have clear, perfect skin. Trust me when I say that it will get better, and you will get to a point where you feel confident in your skin. I know how much it sucks to feel like when people look at you, all they can see is your acne, and they can't look past it. They can. You are more than your appearance, and your appearance is more than your skin. If you are feeling really down or you just need to vent to someone, PLEASE, feel free to message me on Tumblr (king-emmakate). I know how it feels when you think you're the only one going through something and you have no one to turn to. I know I'm just a stranger on the internet, but I also know that it sometimes doesn't matter who you talk to, as long as you get it off your chest, so I really hope that if you feel you have no one on your side, you still know that you can reach out to me and I WILL answer you. I will listen to you and I will care. I wish that I had had someone to talk to when I was extremely self-conscious in the last few years (especially freshman year of college yikes). If you wanna just talk about Netflix, I'm here. If you want to swap hygiene routines and tricks, I'm here. If you want to talk about ANYTHING, I'm here. I want you to know that the people who love you don't care if you look like a million bucks or like the Taco Bell value menu, because you are you no matter what you look like, and real love isn't based on looks or appearances. If you still don't believe me, just listen to the wise words of Peter, "it's just a face. A face won't stop you from being loved. Ask Steve Buscemi. Or Gary Busey."
> 
> If they've both got a chance, so do you.
> 
> Love you guys and I'm so happy that you're enjoying this story! Happy humpday!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is it possible to do a walk of shame when you didn't even have sex? Peter thinks it's unfair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoa it's been a minute but to be fair I am a struggling™ college student

Morning comes and Peter _wishes_ he had a hangover. He wishes he had a pounding headache and nausea, because at least with those things he would have something to focus on other than the ass he made of himself the night before.

He feels extremely guilty, knowing he went way too far and was a total dick to Wade. It’s especially bad because that was the first time he had actually seen him—the first time Wade opened up enough to show Peter that part of him. The first time he felt secure enough with Peter to let his walls down.

 _God_ , Peter was an absolute ass.

He begrudgingly gets himself out of bed—lying around and feeling upset with himself wasn’t going to fix anything—and pokes around in Wade’s wardrobe. The dresser is filled with 3 types of clothing items—plain, monochromatic shirts, Spider-Man merchandise, and t-shirts with inappropriate or cringe-worthy puns on them. The only shirt in the drawer small enough to not make Peter look like Bruce Banner wearing Hulk-sized clothes is a blue t-shirt with a pop-art design of Spider-Man on the front. He thinks it’s a size for a large child, yet it still hangs lamely off his frame. Everything about it is embarrassing.

In the way of pants, just about everything seems as if it will immediately slide off his hips. He never really thought about the size difference between he and Wade until it was staring him in the face. To be fair, Peter’s scrawniness is mostly due to his genetics. He just had a lot more lean muscle, and was never really able to bulk up much. Also, when you can literally throw a car a hundred yards with your bare hands and bench-press 10 tons and not even break a sweat, there isn’t a whole lot in the way of traditional strength training that’s gonna make any difference. Not that he’s bragging—or complaining. He’s not super fond of exercise anyhow.

Wade, on the other hand, wasn’t bit by a radioactive spider, and doesn’t have super strength. All of Wade’s strength is from working out, lifting weights, doing push-ups—probably one-handed and maybe with someone (Peter) sitting on his back, because that probably wouldn’t even be a challenge to someone with arms as magnificent as Wade’s. And now Peter’s thinking about Wade, shirtless, lifting Peter above his head with one arm, all hot and sweaty, breathing hard with exertion, and then Wade slamming Peter down on his big, expensive bed and using those rough hands and strong arms to ruthlessly pump his—

Wow. Okay.

Peter takes a cold shower in the adjacent bathroom and changes into the Spider-Man shirt and a pair of smaller but still too large sweatpants and ties the string tight around his waist in an attempt to keep them from falling off and revealing that he’s not wearing anything underneath them. Can you blame him though? He wasn’t gonna wear his dirty boxers again and he definitely wasn’t going to wear a pair of Wade’s briefs.

He combs the longer strands of his hair back out of his face and smooths his hands down the shorter-trimmed hair on the sides of his head. He examines himself in the mirror, and frowns. He looks like a child from the neck down. It’s pretty embarrassing, but he sighs and leaves the room, wandering around in the apartment until he finds his way back into the foyer/living room area.

Wade is lounging on a eggshell-colored couch, with a blanket covering most of his body, but Peter can see that he’s wearing his usual red-and-black suit. He’s wearing his mask again. Peter frowns. He can’t help but feel it’s his fault that Wade is hiding behind “Deadpool” again.

Peter sighs and looks around for something to do until Wade wakes up.

**He’s pretending to be asleep.**

“God damn it.” Wade sits up and groans, “What part of ‘don’t say anything’ do you not understand?”

Peter eyes Wade questioningly. “Why were you pretending to be asleep?”

“Maybe so you’d plant one on me, Sleeping Beauty style.” So he’s back to flirting, which would be a good sign, except that Wade’s tone is all wrong, like he’s being forced to say it.

**Actually, it was to avoid having to talk to you.**

“Oh.” Peter looks down at his feet and scuffs his bare foot on the floor, suddenly wishing he could be anyplace but here. The guilt he feels is drilling a hole through him and he doesn’t know if he should apologize and talk about it or if Wade wants to be left alone instead.

“It’s not like that, Petey, I just… I don’t know what to say. That was a lot to take in yesterday.”

Peter can feel his cheeks heat up, and he clears his throat awkwardly. “Yeah, I, uh…” Resisting every impulse in his brain that tells him to keep his head down submissively, he raises his head to look into the whites of Wade’s mask. “I’m sorry. I handled that awfully, I was a dick and I went too far. But that doesn’t mean that I don’t feel that way.”

Wade clicks his tongue thoughtfully and nods his head slowly. He says nothing for a couple minutes, so Peter sighs and shuffles off to the kitchen. He searches through the cabinets until he locates a box of cereal and pours himself a bowl. It’s another few minutes before Wade walks into the kitchen after him.

“Nice outfit.”

Peter looks down at himself and is reminded that he looks like an absolute fool, which, he guesses, appropriately matches how he feels at the moment.

“Until we go back to my apartment for clothes, I guess I have to wear yours.” Peter tries to ignore the way his heart flutters at his own words.

Wade shrugs. “I’m not complaining.”

Peter finishes his cereal and places the empty bowl in the sink, where he begins to wash it.

Wade places a gentle hand on Peter’s arm, effectively stopping his motions. “What are you doing?”

“Washing my dishes, what does it look like I’m doing?”

“Just put them in the dishwasher.” Wade jabs a thumb in the direction of the kitchen island, where, lo-and-behold, there is a dishwasher.

“You have a dishwasher?” Peter is almost embarrassed by the enthusiasm in his voice. “Does it work?”

“Uh, yeah, why wouldn’t it?”

Peter suddenly feels every cent as poor as he is, which is almost starting to become a norm as he’s staying in this palace of an apartment. “The one that was in my apartment was broken and also there was a family of rats living in it. The landlord didn’t want to pay for it to be fixed so they just tore it out.”

Wade gasps. “And the rats?”

“The rats were relocated, but they weren’t paying rent, so it’s fair.”

Wade chuckles. “Well, you’re welcome to use my dishwasher whenever you’d like, Peter.” He mimes tipping an imaginary hat for Peter.

Peter smiles, he can’t help it. He knows it’s ridiculous to feel joy at the offer of dishwashing rights. It’s a tiny, silly gesture, but Peter has found that those little gestures hold more meaning than Wade has ever communicated. It’s in those little gestures that Peter sees the soft, gushiness behind that hardened, mercenary shell. And so Peter smiles—because he knows what those all mean. Because he knows that Wade loves him.

“Can I show you something?”

 

* * *

 

It’s almost dusk when they get to the roof of the Daily Bugle building, and Peter locates his hidden backpack on muscle memory alone. The bag is almost completely capsulated in old spider webs (both natural and man-made). He dusts it off and zips it open. Inside is a change of clothes—which he might have considered taking with him had they not smelled of dust and cobwebs—and his camera. He pulls it out and flings the strap around his neck, clicking at the buttons and looking down at the screen.

Wade sits cross-legged on the concrete, picking at the ground with a knife.

Peter sits next to Wade, and holds the camera in between them so that they can both see the photo on the screen. It’s an action shot of Spider-Man.

“Did you take that? That’s awesome.”

Peter’s lip quirks up at the praise.”Yeah, this is what I do for a living. If you can call my wage a ‘living’.”

Wade laughs aloud. “You take pictures of yourself as Spidey for a living? That’s cheating.”

“Are you really gonna question the legitimacy of my job, considering what you do for cash?” Peter rolls his eyes, half-exasperatedly.

Wade feigns a dramatic gasp. “Don’t you know that you should never talk about a lady’s money? My word, Peter. How inappropriate of you.” His tone is fond and Peter is glad that he’s starting to sound like his usual self again. He didn’t know how much he missed it until now.

Wade reaches his hands over to the camera, slowly, as if silently asking for permission. Peter removes the strap from around his neck, and hands the camera over to Wade, who handles it very carefully—which Peter really appreciates, seeing as it is one of his most expensive and treasured possessions.

Wade clicks through many photos of Spider-Man, commenting on every one of them, stroking his chin thoughtfully and saying things such as “great composition, couldn’t have done it better myself” or “nice aperture” in a snooty art critic voice. Peter laughs at Wade’s shenanigans, but internally feels very prideful of his work. Of course, he had received praise for his photos from his coworkers and even got a couple letters from readers, commending him for such good ‘candid’ shots, but it was entirely different, hearing such unabated compliments coming from Wade. This moment was perfect, and he’d live it ten times over if he could.

**Holy shit.**

Peter is pulled out of his thoughts and he glances down at the camera screen, only to be filled with horror. His eyes go wide and his cheeks go red, and he splutters. “It’s not—”

Wade turns his head to look at Peter, who swears he could die from embarrassment. Through the fabric of his mask, Peter can see Wade smirking devilishly.

“When did you take all of these, then?”

_And is there a shrine to go with it? Because that, I have to see._

“I-I took those a long time ago! Before we were friends, when—when I didn’t trust you! It was just surveillance!” Peter’s lying through his teeth to save face, although he suspects that isn’t working either.

“Whatever you say, Petey.” Wade’s voice is incredibly smug, and Peter swears to the heavens that he wants to smack Wade right in the jaw. He certainly deserves it.

Peter blushes and grabs for the camera, “Give it back, Wade!” Wade effectively stops him with a hand to the chest. He turns away to continue looking at the photos. The possibly hundreds of photos of Wade, visual proof that Peter is a whole ass fool about this man. How could he forget about the pictures? To be fair, he did have quite a crazy week, and he hasn’t taken photos of Wade in a few weeks, maybe a month. It somehow slipped his mind, and now here Wade is, flipping through all of them, exposing Peter’s guilty pleasure.

Peter’s not a pervert, or so he tells himself, because he only took pictures of him in public places. It’s not like he followed Wade to his home and broke in to stalk him or something. And he wasn’t completely lying, it did _start off_ as surveillance, but it quickly spiraled into something much less practical.

Wade raises the camera up and looks into the viewfinder, and the click of the shutter draws Peter’s attention. He turns to look at Wade, who is smiling down at the screen.

“What are you doing?”

“Well it’s only fair that since you took pictures of me without my knowledge, I get take one of you.” Wade turns the camera so that Peter can see the photo. It’s Peter’s profile, with the setting sun hidden behind his head. There’s one curl hanging down across his forehead, but the rest of his hair is combed out of his face.

He hates it.

“I think you look pretty damn good, Webs.” Wade says smoothly. “Although, I always think you look damn good, so I’m biased.”

Peter groans, “Delete it. I hate seeing pictures of myself.”

“Why? You’re pretty. You’ve got good features and perfect skin. A lot of people would kill for that.”

Peter blushes but doesn’t respond. He knows better than to argue with Wade, especially about something like this. He doesn’t need to hear Wade passionately and fervently complimenting him in his defense. He turns his head to look out to the horizon. The sun is casting a soft orange glow across the city, and the skyscrapers are the only thing breaking the skyline, their silhouettes like man-made mountains, blocking rays of that warm light.

Peter reaches for his camera and Wade relinquishes it immediately. He snaps a photo of the sunset, adding one more addition to his extensive collection of New York City appreciation pictures.

Peter turns and smiles at Wade, who’s already looking right back at him through the whites of his mask. Peter slowly lifts the camera up again, pointing it at Wade, who momentarily looks surprised, but quickly recovers, posing in a mock-sexy way. Peter chuckles and snaps a few photos of Wade against the backdrop of the city they protect.

Peter asks shyly, “Can I take one of you without your mask?”

Wade freezes and doesn’t say anything for a moment, and Peter thinks he’s fucked up again.

He tries backtracking. “Or—Or not. You don’t have to. Just forget I said anything.”

Wade slowly raises his hands to the back of his head, and removes his mask. Peter’s breath catches in his throat, but he hides his reaction to seeing Wade’s face again. His heart races, and once again, he’s glad that Wade can’t hear _his_ thoughts.

“You sure you want a picture of all this?” Wade gestures vaguely at his face, with a decidedly self-conscious expression.

Peter smiles softly. “I can add it to my collection, right?”

Wade’s lips quirk up into a small smile, and Peter takes the chance to capture it. Peter looks down at the screen, and decides that it’s the best picture he’s taken of Wade so far.

“Wow.”

Wade looks over Peter’s shoulder at the photo, and grunts noncommittally. He goes to pull his mask back on over his face, but Peter stops him with one hand gently placed over Wade’s. Wade glances up at Peter, mouth slightly open in surprise.

**Beautiful.**

Peter’s thoughts exactly.

He glances down at Wade’s lips, and Wade catches the gesture, a look of shock in his dark eyes. Peter leans in, slowly, so slowly. He doesn’t want to rush this moment. He wants to give Wade a chance to back out, if he wants to. So he moves so slow that he’s not even sure he’s making progress. Wade doesn’t move, it’s like he’s frozen to the spot. Peter stops when their lips are centimeters apart, so close he can feel Wade’s shaky breath, the heat coming off of him. They’re in a kind of limbo, with Peter waiting for some kind of sign of assent, and Wade completely still.

Wade’s eyes flutter closed, and Peter takes that as permission. He closes the distance between them, pressing his lips to Wade’s. It’s blissful, like coming home after a long day. Peter didn’t know how much he wanted it until it was happening, and now he’s wondering how he’s gone so long without doing this.

It’s sweet, and incredibly brief. Peter pulls back to look at Wade, whose eyes are still closed, as if when he opens them, he will discover that none of this happened, it was all a dream. Slowly, he opens them, looking at Peter with a plethora of emotions that consecutively flash across his face. Disbelief, confusion, surprise, embarrassment, acceptance, glee. By the end of his emotional tirade, there is a wide, goofy smile on his face, and Peter can’t help but smile back. He opens his mouth to say something—what, he isn’t sure—but Wade is already moving back in, hands coming up to hold Peter’s face as he attacks his lips with urgency.

Peter is momentarily shocked, but he quickly overcomes it and melts into the kiss. Wade is on the offensive, as if he’s trying to squeeze every ounce of feeling into the touch, and Peter is quite sure that he’s succeeding.

But before Peter can even really register what’s going on and what to do next, Wade is pulling away.

_I… I am speechless. I’ll leave it to you, big guy, because I can’t even begin to express how I feel about this._

“I have wanted to do that for so long.” Wade’s smile is shy and tentative, as if Peter is going to suddenly decide he doesn’t want this.

As if.

“Me too. But it was better than I ever imagined.”

Wade smiles brightly, those white teeth peeking out from his rough lips. “So you were sincere in your drunk flirting?”

“Yes, I kept trying to tell you that, but you were being so stubborn.”

Wade rolls his eyes, “I wasn’t gonna hook up with you while you were drunk and you had never previously expressed your horniness for me—” Peter groans, but Wade continues, “Besides, you already think I’m a murderer, I don’t want to be a rapist too. That’s just unacceptable.”

“I don’t _think_ you’re a murderer, Wade. You _are_ one, like, the exact definition.” Peter sighs. “But I guess I can understand why you do it. My way… doesn’t always work. But it’s not my job to decide whether someone is worthy of redemption or not. I’m not going to force you to change for me, you are as you are, and I like that.”

Wade looks ashamed for a moment, but he nods solemnly. “I know you didn’t ask for it, but I don’t do that anymore. Or at least, I haven’t, not for a couple months. Not to say I’ll stop 100%, some people just don’t deserve a second chance. But I think that I could try your way for a while.”

Peter searches Wade’s face for any hint that he’s lying or joking, but all he finds is sincerity. He lets out a relieved laugh and shakes his head. “You just keep on surprising me.”

“You haven’t seen everything yet.” Wade smirks and winks at Peter, who scoffs and playfully punches Wade’s bicep. The sun is drifting ever lower behind the skyscrapers, painting the sky in a pink haze.

“Let’s go home.”

 

* * *

 

They go to Peter’s apartment. He desperately needs to put some less embarrassing clothes on, and the grandeur of Wade’s penthouse apartment is a little too much for him at the moment.

Peter unlocks the door and holds it open for Wade, who swiftly closes the door behind himself and presses Peter up to the wall.

“Is this okay?"

The momentary shock Peter feels subsides quickly, and he nods vehemently. “Yeah,” He says breathlessly.

“You look so right, wearing my clothes.” Wade’s voice is deep and husky, and Peter shivers. Wade wastes no time, attacking Peter’s neck with kisses right below his ear. “Feels like you’re mine.”

“I am,” Peter says with no hesitation, as his eyes fall shut and his jaw drops open in a silent moan.

Wade growls and his hands roam down Peter’s torso, and Peter is suddenly reminded of his apparel. Is he gonna get off with a Spider-Man shirt on? How does he feel about that?

He decides he doesn’t care when Wade’s hands come around to grasp his ass, pulling his hips flush against Wade’s. He can feel Wade’s half-hard cock through their clothes, and he gasps at the friction. Peter rolls his hips against Wade and they groan in unison.

Wade takes over, holding Peter’s hips still, as he grinds their erections together. Obviously, Peter could move if he really wanted to—super-strength and all that—but there’s something incredibly sexy about Wade taking control of Peter. So Peter just holds onto Wade and lets him make them both feel good. Wade leans in to kiss Peter’s mouth desperately, like Peter’s mouth is the only thing anchoring him to this world.

**Turn him around.**

Wade lets out a frustrated groan and pulls away from Peter’s lips. “Leave me alone, can’t you see I’m busy here?”

“No, do what he says.”

Wade looks down at Peter, heat in his gaze. Who is he to deny such a clear order? He spins Peter around, pressing his chest to the wall. His left hand goes around to grasp at Peter’s hard cock through the fabric, but he freezes.

“Wait,” Wade pulls the waistband of Peter’s (Wade’s) sweatpants and groans exasperatedly. “You’re not wearing underwear? In my pants? If that wasn’t so incredibly fucking sexy, I would probably be offended.”

Peter chuckles in response, and Wade keeps rubbing at Peter’s cock through the sweats.

“Gonna make you cum in them.”

Peter moans wantonly, turning his head a little to look back at Wade, lips parted and eyebrows drawn up together. He nods again and Wade smiles smugly. Wade’s right hand is caressing Peter’s ass, and Wade kisses Peter’s neck.

“Can I go down on you?” Wade’s voice is low right behind Peter’s ear, and Peter groans.

“Please.”

Wade doesn’t waste a second—he drops to his knees, pulling down the back of Peter’s pants as he goes.

_Fantastic ass, whatever you’re doing to achieve this excellent behind, keep doing it._

Peter laughs. “Glad you approve of it.”

**Hell yeah. You’re a pretty boy.**

_Oh, so now that we’re going down on him, now suddenly you think he’s pretty? What happened to us seeing ‘much better specimens’ or whatever ignorant shit you said a few days ago?_

**Shut up.**

Wade ignores the boxes in favor of pulling Peter’s ass open with one thumb. His left hand goes up between Peter’s legs to massage at his balls through the fabric.

_Wonder if they’re as smooth as Wolvie’s?_

“Are you seriously talking about Wolverine’s testicles right now? While we have this absolute snack in front of us.” Wade clicks his tongue, and without warning, dives in to smooth his tongue over Peter’s puckered hole.

Peter’s head snaps back and his eyes roll into his head. One hand goes back to hold Wade’s head in place. Wade hums in approval and goes to town—pushing his tongue in past the rings of muscle and into Peter’s tight heat. His other hand forms a tight fist, and Peter focuses his energy on not yelling out or punching a hole into the wall.

The hand on Peter’s balls slides up further, to squeeze at Peter’s cock. He momentarily feels embarrassed about how fucking close he is, but the thought quickly leaves his mind when Wade starts fucking his tongue in and out of Peter’s hole. The loud squelching sound it makes is absolutely filthy, but it’s nothing compared to the string of curses and moans coming out of Peter’s mouth.

“Don’t stop, I’m almost there.”

Wade doubles up, working his hand twice as fast and hard over Peter’s cock and flicking his tongue inside Peter’s entrance.

Peter’s fingers leave dents in the wall as he holds to it for support. His balls are drawn up in one of the most powerful orgasms he can remember. He’s cumming and cumming, and he swears it’s never gonna stop. Obviously it does, with his cock completely spent, and Wade’s sweatpants wet with quickly-cooling cum.

“Shit.” He’s breathing hard, and thinks his knees would probably give out had it not been for his fingers clinging to the wall.

He turns around quickly, and Wade stands to kiss Peter’s mouth fervently. It’s bliss, and Peter realizes he wants this everyday. He wants Wade to be in his life everyday. Maybe not in the way that they are right now, with Peter able to hear the boxes, and with their inability to be separated, but he doesn’t really have a say in that.

“I just made Spider-Man cum.” Wade’s tone is disbelieving, and he looks down at his hands in wonder.

Peter giggles and places a hand against Wade’s broad chest. “And now Spider-Man’s gonna make Deadpool cum.”

Wade cheers but it is abruptly cut off by the sound of Peter’s phone beeping. Peter looks at Wade apologetically, and holds up a finger.

“One second.” He fishes his phone out of his pocket and glances at the screen. “Unknown super-powered individual, spotted on the corner of Liberty Ave and Logan St.”

“Logan St? Named after the movie or the man?”

Peter ignores him. “Firing blasts of energy. Sounds like our guy. Sorry to leave you hanging.”

Wade adjusts his junk and pulls his mask back on. “Well, let’s go get your guy and get you out of my head.”

Peter nods and runs to the bedroom to change, yelling over his shoulder, “Nothing could get me out of your head, let’s be honest.”

Wade laughs, and when Peter remerges in his Spider-Man suit, Wade shamelessly admires his ass.

“Ready?”

Wade nods.

“Then let’s end this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holy cock-block batman!
> 
> 1 more chapter? y'all ready?


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